Mortal Man, Mortal Needs
by SingMeSweet
Summary: Jack's POV. Contemplating things during Dead of Night  episode 3 of Miracle Day . Takes the radio play House of the Dead into account, as well as other canonical happenings. This is kind of a follow up to Goodbye, Ianto.


Author's Note: I do not own any Torchwood characters. I merely interpret them, in light of canon. Some of the dialogue is not mine. I am citing it here, it belongs to RTD and other writers of Torchwood. I constructed around it.

"Mortal man, mortal needs," I say, "I am so mortal." I mock salute and walk to the pub (er, American bar) with a grin, knowing that Gwen is rolling her eyes. I wonder how she explains me to the Americans when I'm not around. It makes me chuckle. The grin, the chuckle, it's all a façade anyhow. I know it's been a year since I last saw her (and Ianto), and Gwen probably expected that I would have moved on, not that she thought she'd see me again. I've moved on enough to have sex, but that has always been one of my favorite recreational activities. I still think about him. I push through the doors to the pub, trying to shove all the bubbled-up feelings away. They aren't as fun as what awaits me inside.

This is more like it, I think to myself. Dozens of half-dressed, well-developed men are dancing to the music, getting ready to hook up. Meaningless sex has never sounded so good, so right. Being with Gwen again brings back unwelcome feelings I was hiding from. I instantly feel apart somehow, dressed as I am in my RAF coat, braces, button-down shirt and trousers. As I walk to the bar, I pat a rather attractive fellow on the chest, letting him know I think he should keep up the good work. I get to the bar and order a Scotch. Had stopped drinking for a long time there, but once Ianto died, twice, I picked it back up. The bartender is cute, so I try and pay attention. I ask him about the bowls on the bar, we discuss sobriety. Chip. Huh. Never had one of those. I offer my button instead.

"If you damage that coat, I'm jumping over this bar to protect it," he says. Flashback. Weevil hunting. A mysterious young man shows up and helps. _Jones, Ianto Jones…I really do love that coat._ Stalking. Hunting Myfanwy. The first time we hooked up, for what I thought would be meaningless sex. The images flicker across my mind in an instant. The bartender is young. Seems like he wants to convey that he's worldly. He kind of looks like Ianto, if I squint. I take a drink. Slow down a bit. Size him up some more.

I extend my hand, deciding to downplay my overhyped personality for once. "Jack. Do you like the coat?" I hope he does. I could use with a little meaningless sex that's a little misdirected, a little dishonest. Sleeping with the past and its ghosts, that's me.

"Brad, passionately." That's that. Here is my meaningless sex partner of the night. I sit and drink until his shift is over. God, that Scotch feels so good. The last time I saw Ianto was at a pub, a proper Welsh one. He was dead. I tried to take him with me. He decided to save the world instead. I can't really blame him anymore, now that I've thought it over a million different ways. I mean, shit, I saved the world over the life of my own grandson. Can't believe Ianto would've been thrilled about dying again. Mustn't think on that now, Brad's shift is over.

We go back to his place. Heavy making out, some petting. Mmm, that's nice. Much easier to get him out of his clothes than to get me out of mine, which is an odd feeling for me. My clothes were more complicated, to be fair. We discuss protection. He doesn't see the need. I do, given my strange newly regained mortality. He tells me I'm calling the shots. Well, duh, to coin a popular 90's phrase. I shove him down to start sucking me off. I need time to think. I close my eyes. Imagine Ianto. I can do this now. I'm getting stronger when it comes to him. Doesn't make it ache any less.

After sex, Brad is asleep. It was good, enjoyable, passable, recreational. Nothing like what I had with Ianto. He didn't have any of Ianto's sweetness, his innocence. I sit and drink another glass of scotch. I muse, try and continue repression of fond memories, and fail miserably. Ianto stalking me to get hired. Ianto and Lisa. Coming back to Ianto and nervously asking him on a date in an office building (source of all my fantasies about "normal"). Him saying yes. Ianto dying in my arms. Ianto tricking me into letting him die again, a sacrifice to save the world. As I tear up, I realize I am most definitely drunk. It's an odd feeling. Drunk in America. In a strange boy's bed. Of course, thinking about Ianto, now about Steven, the regrets. At least one of my regrets can be fixed now: leaving Gwen behind. She was right when she told me I couldn't run. I carried the memories with me. I started to miss her, thinking maybe she could help the pain recede a little. Hoping she could forgive me. I didn't think about the memories she would bring with her. There's no way for her to exist in my mind in isolation from Ianto, from Steven, from the 456.

I decide to call her. To talk about us. Me and Gwen. Gwen and me. Friends, wanna-be lovers, who the hell knows? I just know that, now that I'm mortal, I need someone who cares about me. Who will always be there. She will, too. She's immortal now, right? Even more astounding, she's still speaking to me. I decide in a blaze of glory that I must tell her all of this. Then, she does what sober Jack would've known she would inevitably do. She brings up Ianto, when the whole purpose of calling her was to forget and to stop thoughts of him, not a logical choice, admittedly. A pained look crosses my face, but I gloss it over. Lump him into the group of my dead friends, though he was so much more. Tell her we don't need anyone else now, only each other. When I decide, in a moment of drunken mortal insecurity, to make sure she's on the same page, Gwen is nowhere to be heard. I can hear Rhys and Gwen saying Anwen's name in the background and realize they must have found a way to communicate. She'll always need him. I can't blame her. I needed Ianto. Still do, though my need and my memories of Ianto as a whole, solid person are fading. I'm the one who told her not to let her life slip. Never dreamed I'd need her to comfort me, to be my rock, in a friendly way, not a let's get naked way. There's been tension, but not love, not really even lust. I'm definitely drunk if I'm musing on this. I ran away to stop musing on crap like this.

So, I guess the answer is: I can't ever really need anyone. Everyone will let me down somehow. At least now, I know I have death to look forward to. A death, that could take me to the other side of the rift, where maybe the only person I've ever really needed awaits me. The one person I truly allowed myself to depend on in hundreds of years. Lovable, faithful Ianto. I can dream of reuniting in another life, or afterlife, though I know it doesn't exist. Here, I'm always left alone.


End file.
